


The Mayor's Legacy

by jedi_penguin



Series: Spatula Raisin [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Character Death, M/M, immature humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26186158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedi_penguin/pseuds/jedi_penguin
Summary: Have you ever noticed how unconcerned the Sunnydale police are about vampires? Spike is about to learn why.An AU of "Tabula Rasa." Takes place that night and the following day. Vampires didn’t attack The Magic Box, the crystal wasn’t broken in the fighting, and thus the Scoobies didn’t regain their memories.
Relationships: Spike/OMC
Series: Spatula Raisin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1901644
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	The Mayor's Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a challenge to kill my least favorite character in the stupidest way possible. I intended to keep it for my own amusement rather than posting it, but as I considered the implications of Spike not going to the Magic Box during "Tabula Rasa" a much longer and more serious fic practically wrote itself. So, I'm putting this up as a companion piece to "Spatula Raisin," though it is absolutely not necessary to read this fic to understand the other one if you're not up for a Spike death fic.

Spike threw his cigarette on the ground and narrowed his gaze. Showtime. He had been casing the joint for hours, waiting for the janitorial staff to leave, and he was ready to make his move now. He methodically ground the smoking fag beneath the heel of his boot, needing that small bit of violence to help him put his thoughts in order.

Spike pushed himself off of the wall that he had been lounging against, picked up the large burlap bag that he had dropped earlier and skulked over to his target. The door was locked, of course, but a hundred years or so of being undead had taught him a trick or two. He started humming a song from his youth, a tune so old that he no longer remembered the words, and set to work jimmying the lock. Before his memory began to falter on the melody, the door sprang open.

"Well, looky here," the blonde vampire murmured to himself. Spike grinned in delight when he realized that his target must have acquired more merchandise since the last time he was in here. "This should do the trick nicely. And give me a nice stash to boot."

As Spike took out his sack and moved to his target, he congratulated himself once again for developing such a simple and elegant solution to his problem. He had thought about lying low until his problem went away on its own, but according to Willy, that was a good way for a vampire to wind up staked. The bartender had suggested that it might be time to call in a favor or two from the Slayer, but Spike wanted to avoid that if he could. Buffy was playing "now I want you, now I don’t," and this just didn’t seem like the right time to be asking her for things. If he could just play it cool for a while, he would have her begging for it. The thought of a Slayer begging him, a vampire, to fuck her was enough to make his dick ache with want. Spike grinned. Anything that involved pain and his cock was to be savored.

Spike gave himself a mental shake, and sternly reminded himself that he had business to attend to. He began methodically opening cages and lifting out kittens by the scruffs of their necks. They mewled pathetically as he threw them into his sack, much to the delight of his demon. He wasn’t actually hurting the animals at the moment (thus keeping him safe from the chip) but he was distressing them, and that was enough for now.

The vampire congratulated himself once again on his brilliant plan. He should have thought of robbing the pet store months ago, when he first started falling into debt. This was much more fun than going to see that prat of a loan shark. It might have been better if he had thought to bring another sack perhaps, but how was he to know that the owner was about to acquire an entire litter of beautiful full-bred Siamese kittens? The street value of these babies alone would keep him in blood, booze, and cigarettes for months.

Unfortunately, Spike’s pleasant daydreams were rudely shattered by Sunnydale’s finest. There must have been a silent alarm that he had inadvertently set off. Bugger, maybe this plan wasn’t quite as brilliant as he had believed. Still, he knew how to handle coppers.

Spike gave his most ingratiating smile and started to stretch his hand forward. This was the wrong move. Faster than Spike could blink, all six police officers drew their guns and pointed them at the vampire. One of the cops, a short black woman with very broad shoulders, gave a vicious snarl. "Hands on your head, asshole. Don’t move a single muscle."

Spike sighed and considered his options. He couldn’t attack them, because of his sodding chip. He couldn’t bribe them, because the Watcher had been a fucking cheapskate lately, and had changed the lock on his cash register. (A fact that had rather hurt his feelings. Spike had never stolen more than fifty bucks per week. What more did the ungrateful wanker want? Well, he wouldn’t be that considerate in the future after he figured out how to pick the new lock!) He could try to make a run for it, but he would be riddled with bullet holes before he made it to the door. That wouldn’t kill him, of course, but it would hurt like hell and might slow him down. Might as well go quietly; he could always break out of his cell later. Or, perhaps it was time to bring in the Slayer after all. Yes, definitely time. Spike sighed theatrically and asked, "When do I get my phone call?"

*~*~*~*

It turned out that his phone call was a long time in coming. Apparently, there had been a series of pet store break-ins in Los Angeles and throughout the San Fernando Valley, and the police simply refused to believe that he knew nothing about them. The officers grilled him non-stop for hours, and Spike found himself regretting the fact that he didn’t have any information to give them. When Spike felt the sun start to rise, his demon began to panic. "Listen, I know my rights. Give me my bloody phone call."

The officer who was currently running the interrogation, the small woman from the night before, yelled out the door. "Hey, Sarge. Perp wants his phone call. Whatcha think?"

The desk sergeant, a tall cop with a bad complexion and dirt brown hair chopped into an uncomplimentary buzz cut, strolled into the room. He spared the vampire a contemptuous glance and then turned to the officer who had been questioning Spike. "I don’t know. Has little Willie here co-operating?" If Spike had had a working circulatory system, his face would have flooded with rage and embarrassment at that. As it was, he kept his mouth shut and tried to concentrate on the lovely image of what he would do to the tosser if his chip was ever removed.

The black woman shrugged. "He’s not giving me anything, if that’s what you’re asking. Tell ya the truth, I don’t think he knows anything. I say we throw in the pen until he gets arraigned. No reason not to let him have his call."

The sergeant nodded briskly and walked out of the room without another word. He was back in a moment with a phone that he plugged into a jack that Spike hadn’t noticed before. He gave Spike an insincere smile and told the vampire to take his time.

Once he was alone, Spike spent a moment debating his options. He finally decided that he would call the Watcher instead of Buffy. He knew that Giles would be an asshole about the situation, but Spike was also certain that the Englishman would come through for him. Buffy was so unpredictable these days that she might just leave him in here out of sheer bitchiness. (Not that he would ever tell her that, of course. He was a man in love, after all.)

After months of living with Giles, Spike knew the number by heart. He punched in the number from memory and drummed his fingers in nervous irritation while the phone rang. To Spike’s surprise, a woman answered. "Hello?"

Not being one to waste time on niceties, Spike grunted, "Yeah, whatever. Give me Rupert."

The vampire heard petty squabbling in the background. Giles was trying to calm down the strange woman who was complaining about "your rude friends, calling at all hours of the morning." If Spike didn’t know better, he would have sworn that Giles’ bedmate sounded like Anya. The thought of somebody cuckolding the snide carpenter brought a delighted grin to Spike’s face, but he knew that the Watcher would never be the man to do it. The stupid git had too much conscience to screw over a friend that way; must just be a coincidence.

After a few minutes of squabbling, Giles finally came to the phone. "Um, hello. This is–uh, is Rupert Giles."

Damn, the Watcher was tightly screwed. Can’t even pick up the fricking phone without making a big production out of it. Maybe he hadn’t got laid the night before after all. Ah well, didn’t affect him; might as well get to the point. "’Bout bloody time. Listen, I need you to bail me out of jail."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. This didn’t worry Spike; he had anticipated that Giles would mull things over and then come through. So confident was he that he nearly missed Giles’ response. "Who are you, and why exactly would I want to get you out of jail?"

Spike felt a chill go down his spine. The Watcher hadn’t sounded irritated or sarcastic–which Spike could have handled–but simply curious. He genuinely didn’t seem to know why he should help Spike out, and that was bad news. If Giles needed reasons to come to his rescue then he was screwed, because Spike could only think of one ... and he knew that the help he had offered against Glory didn’t impress Giles nearly as much as it did Buffy. Still, he could brazen it out. "C’mon, Giles–"

"Giles? Shouldn’t you call me Mr. Giles? Or are we friends?" Once again the Watcher didn’t sound angry, but merely inquisitive, as if he didn’t understand why he should be talking with Spike. The chill down Spike’s spine became a blizzard.

"Fine," Spike spat out, "you’re right. We aren’t friends, Rupes. But your Slayer is in my debt, which means that YOU owe me. And I’m collecting. Today. Drag your poncy arse down to the police station right now and get me out of here!"

"Um, I’m afraid that, uh, I’m not fa- familiar with the debt that you mentioned." Fuck, the Watcher really was playing hardball this morning, wasn’t he? Bastard.

"Glory beating the hell out me, Dawn up on a tower, me saving her while the Slayer took a swan dive ... any of this ringing a bell, Watcher?"

"Ahhh, not really. But, you see–"

Suddenly Spike wasn’t afraid any longer; he was in a pure white rage. "Oh, I see, Watcher. I see perfectly well, you wanker. And you are going to pay, I can promise you that! Someday I will get this chip out of my head, and on that very day I’m going to rip your throat out. Count on it, mate."

When Giles’ voice came back on the line, he didn’t sound inquisitive any longer. He sounded cold, hard, perhaps a little cruel. Spike wondered whether his little outburst might not have been a tactical error. "Is that a fact? I must confess that I am rather looking forward to that encounter. Do look me up after you get out of prison." Before Spike could respond, he heard a small click and a loud dial tone. Giles was gone.

Spike stared at the phone in shock for a moment and tried to consider his alternatives. Even if he knew Xander’s phone number–which he didn’t--there was no way the whelp would help him. Clem would do it, but he was out of town at the moment. There really was only one option: he was going to have to get the Slayer involved after all. Spike sighed in resignation and started dialing. He had only got half the number punched in when a large freckled hand pushed down on the receiver button. Spike looked up in outrage to see the unattractive desk sergeant smirking down at him. "Oi there! What did you do that for?"

The officer lost his smirk and growled, "The better question is what do you think you’re doing?"

"What do you mean," Spike huffed. "I’m making my phone call. The phone call you said I could make."

"Nooooo," drawled the sergeant lazily. "I told you that you could have a phone call. You made it, you talked to somebody, you’re done."

Spike felt quite put-upon by now. He had been kept waiting for his phone call for hours, only to have the Watcher hang up on him, and now this berk wouldn’t let him call Buffy? There was simply no excuse for such shabby treatment. "But I’m not done yet! He wouldn’t help me and–"

The cop gave him a nasty grin. "Oh, I think you are, Willie. I gave you one call, you wasted it, and now it’s over. Time to find you a nice little cell."

Spike added a few more items to his "what I’m going to do to this wanker once I’ve got my chip removed" list, and then shrugged. He was still confident that he wouldn’t be in here for long; this was merely a temporary inconvenience. Taking that small shrug for acquiescence, the officer pulled him into a standing position and gave him a little shove. Spike had a devil of a time fighting down his demon at that, and quickly added a dozen more little tortures to his list. This particular human had better hope like hell that Spike never got back to his natural state.

They walked down a long corridor, finally ending with a heavy iron door. The obnoxious officer took out a key card and swiped it, causing the door to swing open. Sunlight suddenly flooded the dreary hallway, and Spike jumped back with a yelp. The room had a huge skylight that bathed all the holding cells in sunlight. The sergeant smirked at him and asked, "What’s the matter, Willie-boy? Lodgings not to your liking?"

Fuck me, Spike thought. He knows. He knows what I am. Spike wondered whether he could use that to his advantage, but quickly realized that it was unlikely. The sergeant wasn’t afraid. Not in the slightest. In fact, the copper exuded confidence, as if he were utterly certain that he held all the power. Yes, he held a gun and Spike was in handcuffs, but he still should have been at least a little bit afraid of being alone with a vampire. That fact that he wasn’t made Spike nervous. Obviously there was more at work here than he knew. Still, he needed to play the game until he figured it all out. "No, I’m not too fond of my new digs. Whatever happened to cold, dank dungeons? There’s a reason why they’re classics, ya know?"

The sergeant sneered at Spike, leaving the vampire to wonder what passed through that ugly head of his. He gave nothing away, however, apparently choosing to play the same game as Spike. "Oh, but dungeons are depressing! We want our patrons to be happy ... at least until they are sent on to the penitentiary. Doesn’t a nice, sun drenched little cell make you happy, Willie-boy? I mean, you’re so pale, I would think that you would be delighted to work on your tan for a change."

The officer’s eyes glinted with malicious glee, taking away Spike’s last doubt that the man might not know what would happen to his prisoner if he were to walk into that room. Time for straight talk. "So, how much is it going to cost me for you to just let me go?"

"Why, Mr. deSangre, are you suggesting that I might be open to a bribe?"

"Too right I am," Spike growled. "I can’t go in that room, and you know that I can’t. I’d rather not bite you in the middle of the police station, so I’m wondering whether we can’t come to some sort of arrangement."

The officer abruptly dropped his facade of coyness. "It’s possible, but not likely. I processed you myself, and I happen to know for a fact that you have exactly $12.79 on you. My conscience needs a bit more than that if I’m going to put one of your kind back on the street." Spike started to protest, but the taller man cut him off. "And don’t tell me that you can get the money, because we both know that you’d steal it from somebody else. That just makes more work for my people, and I don’t want the hassle."

Even though Spike found the copper god-awful unattractive, he let out his most seductive growl and then purred, "How about a more personal form of payment?"

"Are you talking about a blowjob," the sergeant asked with deceptive nonchalance. Real romantic guy, wasn’t he? At least he didn’t want Spike to bend over ... not that Spike would. He did that for nobody but Angelus.

Unable to create even the semblance of desire after such crassness, Spike mumbled, "Well, um ... yeah."

"Will you swallow?" Apparently there was no limit to the sergeant’s coarseness. Well, two could play that game.

"Will you let me go if I do?"

"Oh, I’ll let you go as soon as you get me off," admitted the tall officer. "But I’ll let you go with a twenty dollar bill in your pocket if you swallow as well."

So, this was the bloke’s game. He wanted Spike humiliated, to know that he was nothing but a whore. (And a cheap one at that. Twenty bucks? His cheekbones alone were worth ten times that amount. He was hot, damnit!) Spike fought down his demon and forced himself to consider his alternatives logically. He could go quietly to his cell and be burned to a cinder within moments. He could attack this asshole until the chip incapacitated him ... at which point other officers would carry his unconscious body to a cell and he would then burn up. Or he could swallow the big ugly’s spunk–along with his own self-respect–and then go free. Damn, but he was getting tired of thinking through options ... particularly when he never seemed to have any real choices.

Spike knew that he could be reckless and impulsive, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Since this was one of those times, he screamed silent obscenities inside his mind while he looked for a way out of the building that didn’t involve burning to a cinder or taking this bobbie’s dick down his throat. He wasn’t seeing one. Deciding to give in gracefully, Spike asked "So, where we going to do this? Some place without windows, I’m assuming."

The desk sergeant didn’t answer. Instead, he merely grabbed Spike’s handcuffs and dragged his prisoner (his whore) down the hallway and into an empty room. Still not saying anything, the officer took off the cuff from Spike’s left hand and attached it to a water pipe. He then took out his wallet, pulled out a $20 bill, carefully straightened it and placed it on the table. Still moving with stiff deliberation, Spike’s tormentor walked over towards the vampire, unzipped his pants, and leaned against the wall. The eyebrow he arched in Spike’s direction said as clearly as words that it was time for him to fulfill his part of the bargain now.

Fighting down a snarl, Spike dropped to his knees. Using his one free hand, the vampire pulled the officer’s pants down to his knees and then did the same with his briefs. Fuck, the wanker was only half-hard; this was going to require a lot more work upon his part than he had anticipated.

Leaning forward, Spike blew upon the officer’s dick, and the man shuddered in response. Encouraged, Spike took one finger and slowly stroked the semi-hard member back and forth. As the desk sergeant gradually hardened beneath his touch, Spike became a little bolder. He started to gently rub his tongue along the officer’s length as he used his right hand to stroke his balls and his perineum. Wanting to get it all over with as soon as possible, Spike decided to go for a little additional stimulation. He massaged the officer’s cheeks and sent one questing finger in search of his anus. This caused the cop to speak (or rather snarl) for the first time since laying down the ground rules for Spike’s release. "Leave my ass alone, queer-boy." Despite the words, however, he obviously liked the sensation, for his dick finally stood erect.

At last. Spike could now get to work, get paid, and get out of this cursed building. He licked off the pre-cum, and was surprised at how hot it was. Was that natural? He’d never had a human penis in his mouth, or at least not since he'd been turned. Spike suddenly realized that he wanted this arsehole’s spunk pouring down his throat. It was hot and full of life, and actually wasn’t that much different from blood. Anxious for a living human snack, Spike deep-throated the officer and began to suck with wanton fervor. When Spike brought his finger back up to his ass, it was all over. The second he penetrated the cop’s tight hole, he felt the first spurt of semen squirting down his throat.

Spike expected to feel pleasure when he finally managed to bring his captor off, and he did for a moment ... but only for a small moment. This second of pleasure was immediately followed by pain. And by burning. And by pure, clean, agony. Christ, this couldn’t be right. He couldn’t take it, he couldn’t–

*~*~*~*

Sergeant Mahoney was cumming at last, and it felt fantastic. Not that that was the best head that he’d ever had (far from it in fact!), but being sucked off never sucked as far as he was concerned. He stared down at the bleached blowing thing, and wondered whether the creature could hold on until he was done. Guess not, he mused, as he watched the vampire fall to dust and the last of his semen shoot across the room. "Too much for you eh, Willie-boy," he murmured aloud. Well, this mess wouldn’t clean itself up. With a sigh, Mahoney pulled up his pants, pushed himself off the wall, picked up his Jackson, and began cleaning his cum from the floor and wall. He didn’t bother with the ashes; the janitors were used to vacuuming up undead suspects.

When he was done, Mahoney glanced over at the one-way mirror and gave a little salute. He walked into the next room and was immediately greeted by applause and obscene catcalls. He dipped his head and asked, "Did everyone enjoy the show?" This prompted a few chuckles and many X-rated comments. No place on earth was as crude and uncultured as a squad room full of off-duty cops. Mahoney grinned happily; these people were the reason why he loved his job so much.

One cop didn’t join in the raucous teasing, however. Mahoney went over to the kid and clapped him on the arm. "What’s the matter, rookie?"

Gragg looked up at Mahoney, his guileless blue eyes making him look much younger than his twenty years. "What the hell just happened, Sarge?"

The sergeant winked. "The late Mayor Wilkins strikes again." Seeing the lack of comprehension on Gragg’s young face, Mahoney elaborated. "I heard that you got bit three nights ago. Did anyone explain to you what that was all about?" The rookie shook his head and the older man sighed. What were they teaching in the police academy these days? "Okay, do you at least know what bit you?"

Gragg nodded. "It was a vampire, right?"

"Yeah, a vampire." Mahoney smiled kindly. "And do you know why it turned into dust after it bit you?"

"No," the young officer admitted. "I started to ask, but then we were surrounded by a dozen more. Clark said that we should retreat and leave them all for the Sayer."

"Slayer, Tony. She’s called the Slayer." Damn, this kid was green. "If you’re going to be a cop in Sunnydale, you need to know about vampires. Vampires can be killed with direct sunlight, a stake through the heart, or holy water. The dumb ones kill themselves off by forgetting to come in out of the sun, the tough ones are killed by the Slayer (a skinny blonde girl that hangs out in the cemetaries), and we kill the rest with holy water."

"But I didn’t throw anything at him," Gragg objected.

"Don’t need to. All the liquids in your body, in my body, in the bodies of every person who works in this building — they are saturated with holy water. Even a little bit of our bodily fluids is enough to kill a vampire. That’s why the one who bit you fell apart three nights ago, and that’s why Willie-boy turned into dust a few minutes ago. Our blood is poisonous to vampires. And they don’t care too much for holy-water-infused cum either," Mahoney said with a wicked grin.

The young officer frowned in confusion. "Holy water in my veins? How did that happen?"

"Like I said earlier, it’s all thanks to Mayor Richard Wilkins. He was the mayor of Sunnydale my whole life, until the graduating class at Sunnydale High blew him up a few years ago." Mahoney frowned, the injustice of the mayor’s demise still a bitter point with him. "Can you believe that? They blew him up, just because he turned into a giant snake. I mean, the man gave his whole life to public service; you’d think that people would be more tolerant! But I’m getting off track here. So anyway, Mayor Wilkins was a real loyal guy. He liked to work with vampires, but he wanted to keep the human civil servants safe as well. So he set up a special filtration system for all municipal offices. Paid for it with his own money and everything. Every drop of liquid we encounter–the water fountains, water coolers, bathroom faucets, everything–is blessed before it ever gets into the building. Hell, the mayor was so on top of things that he even made sure that the bottling company we use for our soda machines also uses holy water." Mahoney was starting to get a little teary-eyed just thinking about it all. "That wonderful, wonderful man has been dead for two-and-a-half years, and he’s still looking out for us. He was the best friend the Sunnydale P.D. ever had."

Gragg looked impressed by Mahoney’s show of emotion ... as well he should be. Mayor Wilkins had been a helluva man (at least until he turned into a helluva snake). But, because he was only twenty years old, the rookie couldn’t concentrate upon such exalted matters for too long. Instead, his mind kept wandering to what he had witnessed a few minutes earlier. The sergeant obviously read the question on his face, and gave him a rather lurid smirk. "So, you’re wondering how I knew Willie-boy was a candidate for, um, special questioning, aren’t you?"

"NO!" Gragg’s response was so immediate–and so telling–that Mahoney burst out in laughter. The young man blushed ferociously, and ducked his head in confusion. "Well, okay, yeah. I want to know: how did you know that guy was a vampire?"

"I was pretty certain during his questioning. He never once looked at the one way mirror, and that is a dead give-away. Humans always stare at the mirror, because they’ve seen enough police dramas to know that there are people behind that mirror observing them. Vampires, however, never seem to even notice it; I think that it looks like just another wall to them. If you’re not certain, however, go in the questioning room and look at the mirror yourself. If you don’t see your suspect, you know he or she is a vampire ... and thus fair game for whatever game you want to play with him or her." The boy was gawking at Mahoney uncertainly, so the older man decided to help him out. "Tell me, Tony, have you noticed any suspects ignoring the one-way mirrors?"

Gragg thought for a moment, and then nodded his head. "Yeah, there’s this black-haired chick, very goth looking. Gorgeous in a scary sort of way."

"Sounds promising, kid. C’mon. If she doesn’t show up in the mirror, I’ll have you escort her to the sunniest cells in Sunnydale."

Gragg grinned from ear to ear. He hadn’t realized that there were these kinds of perks to being a cop in Sunnydale. He decided that he sort of loved this town.


End file.
